


Beyond A Favor

by NatRogers



Series: Mixing Business With Pleasure [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: A Little Favor, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Co-workers, Contracts, Deleted Scenes, F/M, Family, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Mixing Business with Pleasure, Mutual Pining, New York City, Parenthood, Pregnancy, The Daily, headcanons, oneshots, romanogers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2019-07-27 09:58:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16216667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NatRogers/pseuds/NatRogers
Summary: A collection of deleted scenes and oneshots that take place in the A Little Favor ‘verse.Chapter 6: 4 times Izzie ruined Steve and Nat's sexy time + the 1 time she didn't.





	1. Cologne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ever wonder what happened after Nat pushed Steve into a wall after that bit at the rooftop in [Chapter 9: It's Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14924780/chapters/36964296) of A Little Favor?

Steve’s back hits the wall with a thud the second he closes the door to Natasha’s apartment, and he groans in surprise when her lips are suddenly urgently on his, her arms snaking their way around his neck to pull him to her. He kisses her back just as fervently, dropping his hands to her waist to bring her as close to him as possible, and he feels her hands trail from his shoulders down to the expanse of his chest as her fingers work on the buttons of his shirt. He deepens their kiss, sucking on her bottom lip, and the sound she lets out is a cross between a moan and a growl of frustration as he feels her fingers begin to pull at the material in her hands. “Nat,” he says with an amused yet still breathless chuckle. “Hey.” He takes both of her hands in his own, rubbing his thumbs gently over her pulse. “What’s the rush?”

She looks up at him from underneath her lashes, and the ravenous look in her eyes causes him to swallow hard. “The rush,” she pants, tugging forcefully at his shirt. He hears the telltale sound of a few buttons clattering to the floor, but he keeps his eyes on hers. “The rush is because your cologne has been driving me crazy for weeks. _Weeks,_ Rogers. I am also twenty-two weeks pregnant.” Her hands fall to the buckle of his belt. “You know what that means?” she asks with her eyebrow raised and her voice husky. “That means” - she pauses as she undoes the buckle, leaning in so that she’s close to his ear - “that I am hot and bothered all the time because all my appetites are back with a vengeance.” She grabs him by the chin, angling his face down to look at her. “And since you made me this way, I think it’s only fair that you fix this,” she says, desperation trickling into her tone. “So, take me to bed or take me up against this wall. Either way, you better-”

He doesn’t even let her finish her sentence as he captures her lips in his, eliciting a surprised sound from her as he bends down to hook his hands at the back of her thighs to lift her to him. The movement causes pain to radiate from his bandaged hand, making him gasp, and she pulls away from him.  

“You okay?” she asks worriedly.

“Fine,” he says reassuringly, crushing his lips back to hers. She wraps her legs around his hips, her hands working to undo what’s left of his buttons, and he walks them down the familiar path to her bedroom. As he does, her lips return to his, and she brings her hands up to scrape her nails gently against his scalp. The sensation causes him to groan, and he pushes the door of her room open with his foot before setting her down gently on the bed. She begins to scoot back towards the pillows, but he reaches for her ankle, pulling her back so she’s situated just by the edge of the mattress.

“What are you doing?” she asks, impatience coloring her tone even as she tries to catch her breath.

“I was a soldier once upon a time,” he tells her, shrugging off his button-up and lifting his undershirt up and off as he kneels down before her. “I’m used to following orders.” He hooks his fingers into the waistband of her leggings, pulling it down her legs along with her panties, and she gasps when she feels the cool air dance across her newly exposed flesh. He looks up at her and smirks. “You told me to fix this, so I am.”

“Rogers,” she complains, but it’s half-hearted as he pushes her knees up, prompting her to lie back. “I swear… _oh_.”

Her impending threat diffuses into a pleasured mewl as he licks a stripe up her center, making him groan. She hadn’t been lying when she said she’d been hot and bothered – she’s soaked, he realizes, and he’s barely even touched her. He works his mouth over her, and her body is a live wire, reacting instantaneously to every movement of his lips and tongue. In the countless times they’ve been together, he can’t recall a time she’s been this responsive, and in no time at all, he has her reduced to a writhing, whimpering mess. She calls his name out brokenly, spurring him on, and she quivers at a particularly firm flick of his tongue against her folds. In his hands, he feels her inner thighs tense as her back arches off the mattress. He can tell that she’s close, and he wants nothing more than to push her over the edge, to let her drown in her own pleasure, so he moves a hand down, dragging two fingers by her entrance before he pushes in.

“ _Ah!_ ” She manages to sputter a high-pitched curse when he moves his mouth up, sucking her bundle of nerves between his lips. His mouth working in tandem with his fingers has her dissolving into pleasure within seconds, a string of unintelligible noises slipping from her lips as she falls apart. He eases off of her, trailing kisses up the delicate skin of the inside of her thigh instead as she rides the waves of her climax.

He rises to his feet once she’s settled down, and he goes about freeing himself from the confines of his jeans, letting the material pool around his ankles as he toes off his shoes and socks. He steps out of the pile, walking towards the end of the bed just as Natasha begins to sit up, and he offers her a hand to help her. Her hands reach for the hem of her maroon sweater, lifting it up, and he watches with hungry eyes as it reveals more of her creamy skin when she sits there in just her bra. Before he can think twice about it, he leans down, his hand moving to her back as his fingers feel for the clasp.

“In front,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

It takes him a second to comprehend her words, but once he does, he pulls his hand back, witnessing as her skin prickles with goosebumps as he trails it over the smooth skin of her chest, moving it towards the center where the cups of her bra meet. He undoes the hook, and she shrugs the lacey material off before throwing it carelessly aside. He swallows the lump that’s formed in his throat as he takes the sight of her completely bare before him in. He places both of his knees on the mattress, moving closer to her as his hands reach to caress the swells of her breasts. Her eyes close the second his hands make contact, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she tries desperately to hold back a moan when his thumbs work over her nipples. She feels so much fuller in his hands, and, judging by the way her breathing hitches as he tugs gently, she’s also a lot more sensitive. He leans down, his lips peppering the skin of her collarbone as his mouth moves south, but before he can get any further, she clutches his face in her hands. He looks up at her, and the lust in her eyes is intense as she says, “later, okay?”

He nods, and she scoots back, his eyes locked on her smoldering gaze as he makes his way between her legs. She lies back down, her scarlet hair fanning out like a fiery halo around her, and for a second, he’s unable to do anything but be struck by the beauty of the woman before him. His heart swells in his chest, and he’s nearly overwhelmed by how much he feels for her, but before he can let that get to him, he reaches down to caress her cheek. “Hey beautiful,” he whispers.   

“Hey beautiful yourself,” she says, turning her head to kiss the inside of his palm. He leans further down at that, careful not to crush her as he braces his weight on his hands. Their lips meet, and what starts off as sweet and tender quickly turns dirtier and needier as she lets her hands roam over his skin. He feels her hands slide down his chest, to the dips and planes of his abdomen, and he moans when her hand slips past the elastic of his boxers to wrap around his length.

“Nat,” he breathes hoarsely, her name coming out like a benediction as she runs her thumb teasingly over his tip, making it harder to keep himself upright.

“If you’re so used to following orders…” she trails sultrily, making him groan as her hand begins to pump up and down. “Why are you still dressed?” He can practically feel her smirk against his lips, and he all but growls at her words, moving away from her to rid himself of the last remaining barrier between them. When he comes back to her, she has a devilish grin on her face. “Are you just going to stare or-”

A gasp escapes her mouth when she feels him suddenly at her entrance. He presses into her, slowly and torturously, and his fingers ball the material of the sheets from where his hands rest on either side of her to keep himself from pressing down on her stomach. He isn’t met with any resistance as he slides into her, and it takes all his restraint not to thrust the second he’s fully seated. His chest heaves, as does hers, and he tries desperately to form words. There are so many things that he wants to tell her – how good she feels, and, that, despite knowing each other’s bodies like the back of their hands, he’ll never get enough of her even if he does get the privilege of having her for the rest of his life – but his brain short circuits, his mind blanking and his words magnificently failing him as he’s completely and utterly consumed by the feeling of her around him.

“Steve,” Natasha whimpers, and that somehow clears the haze in his mind away enough for him to find the wherewithal to begin moving. They both moan at every push and pull of his hips, but even so, he can hear Natasha’s voice come through much more firmly as she tries to reach for him. “ _Steve_.”

He stills at the urgency in her tone, ignoring both his needs and Natasha’s whine as he looks down at her. “What’s wrong?” he asks worriedly. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” she says quickly, almost as if she’s afraid he’ll move away. “No.” She shakes her head profusely. “I just- I… I need you closer.”

He sighs. “I know,” he says truthfully, because he does know, and he feels the exact same way. He does not want to risk hurting her or the baby, but the space between them still seems far too much. He looks down between them, at the bulge of her belly, and he racks his brain for a solution. And despite every nerve in his body telling him not to, he pulls out, drawing a wail from her as he moves away from her view and she calls out his name. “I’m here, baby,” he whispers, moving to curl his body against her side. “I’m here.” She tries to turn to her side, but he gestures for her to stay flat on her back before pulling her until her shoulders are leaning against the crook of his outstretched arm. Their hands meet at her side, their fingers intertwining, and he brings her knee up to her chest with his free one. He sinks back into her, eliciting another gasp from the both of them. “Better?” he asks breathlessly.

“Yes,” she breathes, and that’s all the confirmation he needs to begin moving. “God, _yes_.”  

Whereas their last time together had been slow and gentle and cautious as they got reacquainted with each other, in comparison, their pace now is rapacious, dizzying, and almost greedy as he pulls nearly all the way out only to slam back into her quickly. She whimpers with every thrust, her walls fluttering around him, but he does not dare relent, because as rushed as they are being right now, the fact of the matter is that they can be. With all their cards out on the table, they don’t need to savor this like it’s the last time they’ll ever have each other, because this, this thing between them, is permanent. There aren’t any deadlines this time around, and even when this moment ends, they know this isn’t the last, that there will always be time for more. The thought spurs him on, encouraging him to increase his rhythm and making her head fall to the side. The look in her eyes is one of absolute delirium as her lips part slightly, and he leans down to capture her lips deeply in his own.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he says as he pulls away, his tone downright possessive as he leans his forehead against hers.

She gasps at a deliciously deep thrust, but she uses her other hand that’s not tangled with his to pull his face towards hers, making sure to keep it there as she kisses him. “I’m yours,” she whispers into his lips when both their lungs start to burn for air. “All yours.”

“Always?” he asks, because he needs to hear her say it. To hear her affirm it.

“Forever,” she manages to respond, and he feels the warm breath of surprise she huffs out skate across his face at a snap of his hips. She nearly keens, her walls tightening, and he can feel his impending climax brewing hotly in his veins, but he won’t go down without her. He reaches down to her sex, his fingers circling over her bundle of nerves as he thrusts once, twice, thrice, before he feels her tense in his arms, and then she’s shattering around him with a strangled cry. She calls out his name, and he captures her lips in his once more, like he can’t get enough, pouring every emotion running through him into their kiss as waves of pleasure wash over her. He’s quick to follow, surrendering to his own pleasure, to _her_ , and he groans into the lock of their lips as he finishes.

They move to lay side by side, their kisses becoming lazy as they remain tangled in each other’s arms and their breathing slowly comes back to normal. He lets his fingertips trail down her side, and then to her stomach as his fingers spray out against her bump. “I love you,” she whispers as she pulls away, cupping his face in her hands.

“I love you,” he echoes, leaning down to kiss her again if only for the fact that he can. A moment passes, and suddenly, he feels a ripple against his hand, making him smile against her lips.

“Not to be outdone,” she says, shaking her head amusedly.

“Our child?” he asks fondly with a chuckle. “Never.” He moves down until his face is close enough to her belly that he can plant a kiss over where his hand once was. “I love you, too,” he says. He looks back up at her, and the sated smile on her face coupled with the bright look in her eyes makes his heart expand in his chest. And he knows, just _knows_ for certain, that that’s a sight he’ll never tire of seeing. He smiles back at her before it turns into a smirk. “So, my cologne, huh?”

She scoffs at his remark, reaching above her to throw a pillow at him as they both burst out in laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, 
> 
> If you have read [A Little Favor](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14924780/chapters/34574921), you might recognize bits of this from Chapter 9. Obviously, this is the smutty version of what took place after the rooftop scene that had to be cut out because that chapter was massive. 
> 
> The rest of the chapters in this series will be in the same vein – a bunch of deleted scenes that I had to cut out of chapters in the interest of keeping the length decent or scenes that I thought were cute but did not really contribute to the overall plot. Some might also just be me bringing headcanons to life or me taking a scene from the fic and changing the POV. 
> 
> **ALSO, I AM TAKING REQUESTS.** Maybe there was a line in one of the chapters of A Little Favor that you wanted to see a full scene out of, or maybe you wanted to see something like Steve telling Sarah he’s fallen for Nat. Let me know by either leaving it [here](https://natrogersfics.tumblr.com/ask), on my Tumblr ask, or mention it in a comment below and I will add it to the list if I feel inspired by it. I make no promises as to when they will be filled since I am still writing full chapters of A Little Favor, but I will try to fulfill as many as I can.
> 
> A list of prompts already requested can also be found [here](https://natrogersfics.tumblr.com/beyondafavor). 
> 
> As usual, thank you to Sam for making sure my words aren't complete motor sludge. 
> 
> Tumblr: [natrogersfics](https://natrogersfics.tumblr.com/)


	2. Damn If I Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Natasha asked him for a little favor, Steve had agreed under the condition that his heart was off limits. Or so he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by natashaismyqueen on Tumblr: the moment Steve falls for Nat. 
> 
> Got a little stuck while writing chapter 12 of [A Little Favor](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14924780/chapters/34574921), so I decided to dig through some of the prompts you guys left for this series. This is set sometime after Steve visits Sarah in chapter 5. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> This chapter is inspired by 1. this [edit](http://evanzski.tumblr.com/post/166985861039/steve-natasha-au-series-midnight-walk-and) by the amazing [evanzski](http://evanzski.tumblr.com). If you love Steve and Nat, you MUST check out her edits on Tumblr! And 2. [THIS](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sL64bPt6JDM) moment from Playing It Cool.

Steve stares intently at his phone as he enters the lobby of the Daily, quickly making his way into an awaiting elevator. He looks up momentarily to press down on the button for the main floor of the office before turning his attention back to the device in his hand, but he’s left disappointed when he sees that Natasha is yet to return his call. With a sigh, he opens his messages. “ _Are you still at the office?_ ” he types out as the elevator ascends. “ _Meeting ended early. Wanna go a few rounds in the ring?_ ”

He looks anxiously at the screen, waiting for the little bubble to appear to signify that she’s typing back, but it never comes. His eyebrows furrow in both confusion and worry, and he racks his brain for any memory of her telling him she was going to be elsewhere today. It’s been four days since they’ve last seen each other with her being out in London on assignment, but he’s pretty certain that she said she was going to be in the office today. The elevator dings as it reaches its destination, and he gives his phone one more glance before stepping out and making his way towards Natasha’s office. His hand reaches for the handle as he comes to stand in front of her door, but it does not budge as he tries to push it down. He looks at the watch on his wrist. It’s only four thirty in the afternoon, and if her door is already locked, she must not be here.

“Looking for someone?” a voice asks teasingly from the distance. His head whips to the side, and he sees Darcy coming down the hall.

“Did Natasha come in today?” he asks as she stops in front of him. He eyes the bag in her hand. “I didn’t know we had pretzels.”

“That’s because Thor takes them all,” she says bitterly. “I swear to god, that dude is like a blackhole for snacks. I am this close to starting a petition to ration his-”

“Darcy,” he says with a slight chuckle. “Is Nat here?”

“Boss Lady, right,” she says, shaking her head. “Her last interview of the day canceled on her. She’s down at the gym.” He mumbles a thanks to her at that, turning to make his way to the elevator. “Oh.” He turns back towards her, and he watches as she reaches for something on her desk. “If you’re heading that way, do you mind giving this to her?” She steps forward, holding something out to him, and when he takes it in his hand, he recognizes the item as Natasha’s phone. “She left that on her desk.”  

“Got it,” he says. “Have a good night, Darce.”

“Ditto.”

The gym is deserted when he enters, and he does not even bother searching for her in the sea of machines as he makes a beeline for the back. One of the glass doors leading to the boxing ring is held open by a wedge on the floor, and he finds himself confused when he hears a soft melody playing. The arrangement is familiar to him, though he can’t put a finger on when or where he’s heard it. He walks past the door, stopping dead in his tracks at the sight that greets him.

The room is filled with the orange glow of the sun’s rays as it begins to set over Manhattan, and by the window, bathing in the warm light, is Natasha, halfway through a pirouette. He stands frozen in place, stunned as he watches her slither gracefully across the floor. She’s completely lost in the music that she does not even notice his presence, her body moving effortlessly to the rhythm. Part of him feels like he’s intruding on a private moment, like he’s witnessing something that isn’t meant for his eyes, but he finds that he’s unable to look away from her. She looks absolutely ethereal, and he’s amazed at how someone can look so delicate yet so strong at the same time. She twirls, and as her body faces the door, her eyes widen when they meet his own, bringing her to an abrupt halt and causing her to nearly lose her footing.

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly as he takes in the surprised look on her face. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s fine,” she says, tucking a loose tendril of hair behind her ear as he makes his way over to her. “Didn’t realize you were standing there.” She tilts her head to the side, her eyebrows furrowing. “Weren’t you supposed to be working with Tony today?”

“Finished early,” he says before pulling something out of his pocket. “I tried calling you, but Darcy said you were down here.” He hands the phone to her. “She also said you left this on your desk.”

“Thanks,” she says, taking it from him as she turns to walk towards her bag. She bends down to put the phone inside before reaching for the remote to cut the music. “I assumed you would have taken the rest of the day off. What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see if you wanted to go a few rounds,” he says as she stands back up and turns to face him. His lips tug up in a little smile. “I didn’t realize you did ballet.”

“I mean, all the Bolshoi documentaries on my Netflix queue should’ve been a dead giveaway,” she says with a smirk. He opens his mouth to speak, but she quickly nods towards the ring. “Shall we?” she asks, a devious grin making its way across her face. “But I have to warn you, Rogers. It’s been quite a day. I may knock you on your ass a few times.”  

He scoffs. “You’re on, Romanoff.”

* * *

Dalton’s is filled with the usual hustle and bustle of a Friday evening in New York as he brings his beer bottle up to his lips to take a sip. After calling it a day at the ring, he and Natasha had received a summons from their coworkers via text to meet for happy hour. He sits at a table with Strange, Thor, and a handful of other people from the Daily, though he’s only really half listening to the talk about the World Series despite the Dodgers being serious contenders. Instead, his attention falls across the room, to where Natasha stands with a drink in her hand, talking to Darcy, Jane, and Maria as they take turns throwing darts at the board on the far wall. He watches as she laughs at something Darcy says, her nose crinkling – the way it always does when she’s genuinely happy – and the sight brings a smile to his own face. He knows how disappointed she’s been feeling since finding out that their little project was not a success, and he’s glad to see her enjoying herself tonight. She’s beaming, with her cheeks still flushed from their workout, and while he’s not quite sure how it’s possible, she looks even more radiant than when he first saw her at the gym today.

The thought causes him to think back to this afternoon. Internally, he’s been admonishing himself. Sparring when he’s distracted was probably not the best idea he’s ever had. It goes against the grain, against all the training that’s taught him not to go into the battlefield distracted, but try as he might to concentrate, his mind kept circling back to the image of Natasha and the elegance she exuded as she danced. He supposes that he shouldn’t really be surprised. She does have quite the collection of ballet documentaries in her home, and he’s even helped her pick out a few art pieces of ballerinas for her apartment, but he’s never put two and two together. She’s never alluded to it in the years he’s known her, either, and she certainly has never mentioned it since they’ve come to know each other intimately, which is why he finds himself completely and utterly astonished. He doesn’t consider himself a ballet connoisseur by any means, his only real experience being watching Wanda’s recitals when she was younger, but even he can recognize the nearly professional ease at which she crossed the floor, as if the movement was second nature. She looked devastatingly beautiful, and there wasn’t a chance in hell of him not being entranced.

Kind of like he is right now.

He doesn’t realize someone calling out his name until he feels a little nudge on his arm. He turns his head to see Thor looking at him questioningly from the seat next to him, and he shakes his head to regain his focus. “What was that?”

“Never mind,” Thor says, a gleam in his eye. “You’re spacey tonight. See something interesting out there?”

He tries to come up with an excuse, and he finds himself thankful when a familiar voice interrupts. “Thor,” Natasha says, causing the both of them to look up to see her approaching the table. “Jane said she wants a rematch at ping pong.” She turns towards Strange. “You, too, Strange. Maria’s going to need a teammate since Darcy’s heading home.” Both Thor and Strange nod at her before making their way to the other side of the room, and she moves to lean against the edge of the table. She turns to him with a smile “Hi.”

“Hey,” he says, putting his half-finished bottle down in front of him. She picks it up, her fingers curling around the glass, and he watches amusedly as she takes a sip. “Did you kick ass at darts?”

“Not as much as I did in the ring a while ago,” she says, the smug look on her face causing him to snort. She steals a glance at the people sitting around the table lost in their own conversations before looking at him. “Wanna go for a walk?”

“It’s a breezy out,” he says, though it’s half-hearted. She shrugs, and despite the excuse he just voiced, he finds himself grabbing for his coat.

They’re both silent as they walk side by side down Bleecker Street. It’s late on a night in the first week of October, but there’s already a slight bite to the air, making him raise the collar on his coat to shield his neck from the wind. As he does, a delivery man on a bike cruises through the sidewalk, and they step away from each other to allow him to pass. Despite being accustomed to the recklessness of people in the city, he shakes his head in dismay, tucking his hands into his pockets.

“I can hear you thinking,” she says, breaking their companionable silence as they gravitate back towards each other until their arms are almost touching. He turns to look at her, and he sees the knowing look on her face. She raises an eyebrow. “You might as well just spit it out.”

He hesitates for a beat, unsure of how to breach the subject as he looks straight ahead. And maybe it’s the alcohol thrumming through his veins, or the slightly disarming smile he knows she’s trying to hide, but either way, he decides he’s feeling a little brave. “You’re a ballerina.”

She lets out a humorless chuckle. “Ballerina might be a reach.” He looks back at her, uncertain if she’s waiting for him to ask a follow up, but despite only being able to see her profile as she looks  ahead, he recognizes her contemplative look and decides to remain silent. Finally, she sighs. “Would you believe me if I said that being a journalist wasn’t my first plan?”

His eyebrows rise at the revelation, but he quickly swallows the surprise down. “Considering how exceptional you are at your job, probably not.” His words linger between them, and when he sneaks a glance at her, he sees her lip caught between her teeth, her gaze now trained on the ground as they walk at a leisurely pace.

“I was five the first time Melinda took me to see Swan Lake,” she says, fondness dripping into her voice at the memory. “It was just a small production for the community up in Westchester, so it was nothing elaborate.” She shrugs. “But I loved it all the same.”

He smiles. “Yeah?”

She nods. “The ballerinas and the danseurs… the way they moved was incredibly lithe. It was as if they were floating. Like they were intangible.” A sense of nostalgia fills her tone. “I wanted to be just like them, so I begged Melinda to let me take a class.” She laughs. “So, she did, and I pretty much fell in love. My childhood was basically me practicing until I was sore and dizzy, but I didn’t care. Whether I was in the studio or out on stage, it didn’t matter.” A sigh escapes her lips, and he notes the longing in it. “It felt exhilarating, and I loved every second of it. Melinda even said she thought I was slightly obsessed.”    

“I could tell.” Surprise is evident in her eyes as she looks at him. “A while ago at the gym,” he clarifies. “The way you were moving? It was amazing.” He shakes his head. “You were amazing, Nat.” She looks back down at the ground at that, a blush creeping onto her already flushed cheeks. They make it a few more steps before he finds the courage to ask the inevitable. “Why did you stop?” The question brings her to a halt, and for a second, he’s worried that he’s asked the wrong question. He watches as she swallows before looking up at him, like she’s searching his face for a sign. Eventually, she begins walking towards one of the brownstones, and his forehead creases with confusion. “Nat?” She ignores him as she walks towards the stairs, and he follows suit. He looks on as she sets her left foot on one of the steps before lifting her pant leg up until it’s over her knee. He blinks, still unsure of what he’s looking at, but then he sees it, the slight deviation from the porcelain color of her skin, a horizontal line going down her knee that looks an awful lot like an old incision. The breath gets caught in his throat, and he feels his stomach sink with dread.

“Mid tibia stress fracture,” she whispers, running a finger across the scar. “They had to insert a rod through my bone so it wouldn’t snap in half.” She rolls her pant leg back down before stepping down and turning to him, her eyes on her hands. “The doctors said I would never dance again. But, being me, I fought it.” His lips turn up momentarily at that, and as he looks at her, he finds that so do hers. “Physical therapy was hell. It was frustrating and painful, but I wanted to dance so badly that I soldiered on.” She fidgets with the button on her coat before she continues. “And, eventually, I got to a point where I could again… but surgery does have its drawbacks.” She shakes her head ruefully. “I can get away with a routine or two here and there, but anything more, and it starts to hurt.” She lets out a breath as she looks up at him, her green eyes bright. “Certainly can’t hold up long enough for me to make a career out of it like I’d dreamt.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, a part of him feeling like his words are inadequate.

The nonchalant shrug of her shoulders surprises him. “We don’t always get what we want,” she says simply, her voice completely bereft of anger or bitterness, and it’s that unadulterated acceptance in her tone that keeps him rooted in place. “And when we don’t, we can either dwell in the pain of how unfair that is, or we can look forward. Find something else that makes us feel alive.” She nods, a smile forming on her lips as the wind blows her hair out of her face. “Life’s too short to not choose the latter.”

He steps closer to her, because he can’t help it, and then his hands are cupping her face as he leans down to capture her lips in his. A little surprised gasp escapes her, but it lasts but a second before she relaxes into his touch and he deepens the kiss. It’s almost inconceivable to him, that, despite having her dream ripped away from her, here she is, still one of the most accomplished women he’s ever had the pleasure of knowing. He would be floored by the strength of the woman in his arms, but then he remembers. This is Natasha Romanoff, and while he thinks this is something he’s known all along, he’s thrilled that as he gets to know her even more, it’s reinforcing the fact that she’s unlike any person he’s ever met. And for that, he couldn’t be more grateful. He pulls away, and when he opens his eyes, he finds her staring dazedly up at him.

“What was that for?” she whispers.

He runs his thumb across the apple of her cheek before shaking his head, speechless. Because damn if he knows, and damn if his heart doesn’t feel like it’s a little too big for his chest right now.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a request for this series? Leave me a prompt down in the comments or [here](https://natrogersfics.tumblr.com/ask) on my Tumblr ask.
> 
> Tumblr: [natrogersfics](http://www.natrogersfics.tumblr.com)


	3. Can I Get That In Writing?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3: Valentine's Day in the Romanoff-Rogers household.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy (late) Valentine's Day, darlings! Here's some pure fluff!

Natasha squints as her eyes adjust to the morning light. She stares up at the pristine white of the ceiling, allowing herself to revel in the warmth coming from of the sun’s rays peeking through the small spaces between the blinds. A yawn escapes her, and she rolls over as she pulls the comforter tighter over her body. She burrows her cheek into the pillow, letting her eyes fall shut. Sleeping in has become a luxury, one she’s seldom been able to afford since becoming a mother.

Her eyes shoot open at the thought. She bolts up, her vision blurring at the sudden movement, and she shakes her head to bring it back to focus. She looks to the side to find Steve’s side of the bed already empty. Her eyebrows furrow, and she scans the room for any signs of his presence. His phone is still on his bedside table, though the shirt he usually hangs on the back of the door before bed is missing. She tilts her head to the side, listening to her surroundings. She does not hear anything, and while she enjoys a peaceful morning just as much as the next person, she realizes that that’s just the problem. Their home is peaceful – quiet, and almost alarmingly so.

She gets up, making her way to the door and grabbing her robe on the way out. She pads down the hallway, slipping her arms into the sleeves and tying the sash in front as she tries to listen for any movement. The soft sound of a woman crooning to a tune with a deep bass leads her to the kitchen, and the sight that greets her causes her to pause by the doorway, the corners of her mouth tugging upward.

“Just tap the shell on the edge of the bowl and pull it apart,” Steve says, his arms bracketing Isabel as their daughter stands on the step stool in front of the island.

She watches intently as Isabel tries to follow her father’s instructions. The little girl brings the egg she has in her hands to the edge of the bowl in front of her, her eyebrows furrowing in concentration as she taps it on the rim. The expression on their daughter’s face is almost a mirror image of Steve’s whenever he’s deep in thought, and though she’s seen it many times before, it’s still as adorable as it was when she first took notice of it.  

The telltale sound of a shell cracking fills the room, followed by a gasp. “I did it!” Isabel exclaims, turning to look at Steve. “Daddy, I did it!”

“You did?” Steve asks. Isabel nods enthusiastically, pointing to the bowl, and he cranes his neck as he pretends to inspect her work. “You did!” Isabel looks up at him at the confirmation, a beaming smile on her face, and he wraps his arms around her. “Good job, Iz!” He bends down, peppering her little face with kisses and making her squeal with glee.

“Daddy!” Isabel says, giggling. “You’re tickling me!”  

Her hand comes over her heart at the sound of their daughter’s laughter. Steve’s begun to let his beard grow out again now that Isabel’s older, and it’s at a stage where it’s not quite as soft as when it’s fully grown out. Steve chuckles. “I’m sorry,” he says, dropping a final kiss to the top of Isabel’s head. He gestures towards the bowl before them. “Okay, time to mix.”

She watches as the two of them continue to work on the batter, silently listening as Steve guides her through each step and Isabel asks a question now and then. A smile crosses her face. Of all the places in the world her work has taken her, and of all the beautiful scenes she’s had the privilege of seeing, she knows that none of them could ever hold a candle to this.

“Oh no!”

She hadn’t even realized she’d fallen into a trance until Isabel’s voice causes her to snap back into the moment. Her smile falls. “What’s wrong, fig?” she asks, her eyes already checking for signs of injury or causes of distress. It’s become a reflex since the day they brought Isabel home from the hospital, one that’s only been honed as she’s gotten older, and from where he stands behind their daughter, she knows Steve is doing the same.

“We were s’posed to surprise you,” Isabel says, her lower lip jutting out.

“I’m sorry,” she says, rolling her lips to stave off her smile as she pushes off the frame of the door to walk over to them. “But you guys sounded like you were having so much fun, I just had to see what was going on.” A stray curl falls over Isabel’s forehead, and she reaches over to tuck it behind the girl’s ear. “What do you say, can momma help instead?”

Isabel looks back at Steve before turning to her. “Sure!”

“Must be my lucky day,” she says, perching on the counter. Isabel reaches up for her, and as Steve lifts her into her arms, the little girl nuzzles her face into her neck. She kisses her forehead. “What are you guys making?”

“Nantella waffles!” Isabel says excitedly, pointing to where the jar sits on the counter across from them.

“Nutella, sweetheart,” Steve corrects as he walks over to place a bowl of strawberries down next to them.  

Isabel narrows her eyes at him. “That’s what I said.”

“We know, baby,” Natasha says, running her hands through their daughter’s scarlet curls as she and Steve share an amused look.

Steve smirks, and she glares back at him playfully, challenging him to say something, but he shakes his head instead. “Mom and Wanda are on their way to make cookies with her,” he says before turning towards the waffle iron on the opposite counter.

“They’re going to be shaped like a heart,” Isabel adds.  

“I can’t wait to see them,” she says, reaching into the bowl for a strawberry before holding it out for Isabel to take a bite. “So, tell me, what did I do to deserve such a wonderful surprise this morning?”

“It’s Valentime’s Day, momma,” Isabel says matter-of-factly with her mouth still full of fruit.

Steve looks back over his shoulder. “Izzie, what did you want to tell momma when she woke up?”

“Oh, right,” the little girl says, her bright blue eyes lighting up as she turns to face her. “Momma, will you be my Valentime?”

Her head tilts back in laughter, her heart all but melting. “Of course, baby,” she says, kissing her nose. “It would be my honor.” Isabel smiles, stretching her arms out wide to give her a big hug, and she returns it with equal fervor.

“Where’s my favorite granddaughter?”

Sarah’s voice echoes through the hallway, causing Isabel to perk up. “Grandma!” she yells, scrambling to get down. Steve walks over to help her down, and before any of them can blink, she’s hightailing it to the living room.

“Don’t run!” she calls out from where she’s still perched on the counter. It’s futile, she knows, and she sighs in defeat. “One second she’s sweet, and the next she’s running away.”

“Attention span is supposed to get better with age,” he says. “Supposedly.”  

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” she says as he walks over to stand between her legs with a plate in hand.

“Hmm,” he says, setting down the plate as he leans in for a kiss. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” she whispers, resting her palms on his chest.  

“Actually, I have a question for you, too.”

She raises an eyebrow at him, and he pushes the plate he brought closer to her. She looks down at the waffle, and all but snorts when she finds the words _WILL YOU BE MY VALENTINE?_ written on top in chocolate spread. She shakes her head. “Forever and always.”

A smile breaks out across his face before he leans down, capturing her lips in his own. “Can I get that in writing?” he asks as they pull away.

She scoffs, reaching into the bowl next to her before throwing a strawberry stem at him. They laugh, and she pulls him in for another kiss.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone is interested, the song playing in the background as Nat walks into the kitchen is The Way I Am by Ingrid Michaelson. You can listen to it [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LA1m_2ARSlQ).
> 
> Follow Steve and Natasha's journey to finding happiness in [A Little Favor](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14924780/chapters/34574921)
> 
> Have a request for this series? Leave me a prompt down in the comments or [here](https://natrogersfics.tumblr.com/ask) on my Tumblr ask.
> 
> Tumblr: [natrogersfics](http://www.natrogersfics.tumblr.com)


	4. The Cutest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve had anticipated a lot of things when he agreed to take his daughter to the biggest toy store in the state... running into an old friend just wasn't one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am aware that not only is the Toys R' Us in Times Square gone, but also that the entire company is gone. Welcome to my AU. 
> 
> Requested by a few anons on Tumblr. 
> 
> Pardon my typos. It is late.

_Meeting ran late. Just about to leave the office._

Steve’s shoulders sag as he steps off the Q train on 42nd Street and reads Natasha’s message. He steps aside, replying with a quick  _okay_ before sighing. Between the walk to the station from The Daily and subways being what they are, he surmises that it would take at least a half hour more for Natasha to get here. He scoffs at the thought. All the taxes the state charged its citizens, and the reliability of public transportation is still magnificently horrid.

“What’s wrong, Daddy?”

Isabel’s voice coupled with the little tug on his hand causes him to look down, and he finds his daughter’s eyebrows furrowed in concern. He shakes his head, his annoyance dissipating almost instantly. “Nothing, fig,” he says, “momma’s just going to be a little late.” He bends down to get to eye-level with her before smiling. “You ready?”

“Ready!” Isabel says, a smile breaking out on her face.

“All right,” he says, tapping Isabel’s nose as he stands before lifting the little girl up into his arms and making his way towards the stairs leading to the street above.  

“Wow!” Isabel says, her eyes widening as she takes in their lively surroundings.

The list of places Steve could do without visiting in New York City is short enough that he could count them with one hand. But as he and Isabel make it up the last step and onto the street, he finds himself face to face with what undoubtedly sits at the top. Times Square is a spectacle, the bright lights and the large billboards making it a sight to behold even in the late afternoon sun, and the awe on his daughter’s face as she takes in their surroundings almost makes him forget where they are. He begins to walk up the block, placing a hand on Isabel’s back to hold her snugly against him, and he halts just in time to avoid running into the woman in front of him who makes an abrupt stop in the middle of the sidewalk to snap a picture. _Almost_. He’s uncertain if it’s the residual effects of his Army training, the years he’s spent living in the city, or both, but at this very moment, he just finds himself thankful that he’s adept at gauging people’s movement.

To say that he hates Times Square would be a reach. Despite the chaos, he understands what it’s like to get swept away by the beauty of these bustling streets, and even he has to admit that there’s no better place that encapsulates the vibrancy of this city than this slice of Manhattan right here. And in terms of the ruckus and the cacophony at every corner, he knows he’s experienced a lot worse. But as he weaves through the throng of tourists, mascots, and vendors going about their day, he can’t escape the little voice in his head that’s warning him that he could very much lose his three-year-old in the sea of people before him at any given moment. He sighs. He’s never been much of a fan of this place to begin with, and he’s even more unlikely to be one now that he’s a father.  

He looks into the distance, to the end of the sidewalk where the enormous royal blue sign of Toys R’ Us sits imposingly on top of the lavishly decorated building. As he does, Isabel turns in his arms, her gaze surely landing on their destination. He hears the gasp that escapes her lips, her little face lighting up with excitement, and that’s all it takes to remind him why he is where he is. Natasha (and all their family and friends, really) likes to give him a hard time about being the first one to cave to Isabel’s every whim and request, and though he has ample evidence to prove that she's no better at it than he is, he knows that her teasing isn’t completely unfounded.

“We’re here!” Isabel says as they cross the street and stand before the entrance. “We’re here!”

He sets Isabel down onto her feet. “Okay,” he says, chuckling as Isabel bounces up and down on her toes. “Remember what I said before we left. You can’t let go of my hand when we’re inside unless I tell you it’s okay, got it?”

“Got it,” Isabel says, giving him two thumbs-up as she does.  

He all but snorts at his daughter’s gesture, shaking his head. Between Bucky, Darcy, Thor, and everyone else spending copious amounts of time with Isabel as often as they can, he can’t for certain pinpoint the culprit. “Come on, you goof,” he says, holding out his hand for Isabel to take.

The first thing they see as they walk into the store is the Ferris wheel with carts of different themes. He watches as Isabel’s eyes widen to saucers at the sight, her jaw going slack, but much to his surprise, the little girl insists on waiting for Natasha to arrive before getting on. They continue onto the next floor, jumping from one exhibit to another, and despite his fears of being unable to keep track of Isabel in an enormous toy store filled with hundreds of other people, he finds that he’s surprisingly enjoying himself. Isabel’s excitement only intensifies with every turn and every new thing she sees, and for his part, he makes sure to capture every moment on his phone to appease the gang of aunts, uncles, and grandparents who will surely be hounding him for pictures later.

They settle by the activities center at the heart of the store, taking a seat around the table filled with Moon Sand and various casts to create different shapes. Isabel announces that she’s going to make a castle, and given that he could probably sing all the lyrics to Beauty and the Beast from memory from having it play for hours on end at home, he’s not even the least bit surprised.

“A castle!” a voice exclaims. “Can I play?”

He looks up to find a little girl staring at them from the other end of the table, her face framed by golden blonde ringlets, and on instinct, his eyes begin to dart around the room in search of a parent looking for their child. “Daddy,” Isabel says, catching his attention as she tugs on the sleeve of his shirt. “Can she be my friend?”

“Um, yeah,” he says, “just give me a second, baby. Stay here, okay?” Isabel nods, and he looks back at the girl who’s been watching their exchange patiently. He smiles. “Hi, sweetie,” he greets, making his way over before kneeling in front of the girl. “Of course you can play,” he continues. “But does your mommy or daddy know where you are?” The girl shakes her head no, causing his eyebrows to furrow. “Okay, well-”

“Charlotte!”

His head whips up at the name being called out, and he catches sight of a woman coming towards them hurriedly. In an instant, the woman is in front of him, wrapping the little girl up tightly in her arms.

“Charlotte, thank God,” the woman says. “I told you not to wander off without mommy, remember?”

“Sorry, mommy,” the little girl answers contritely.

“It’s okay,” the woman says, cupping the girl’s face in her hands. “Just don’t do that again, okay?” The girl nods, and the woman gets back to her feet. “I’m sorry about that,” the woman says, turning to him. “I looked away for one second and she was gone. I-” she pauses as she finally looks up to see his face, her eyes widening slightly. “Steve.”  

“Sharon,” he says, his tone laced with surprise as he recognizes her brown eyes and sandy hair. “Hello.”

“Didn’t expect to run into you here of all places,” Sharon says, a smile forming on her face. She taps her daughter’s shoulders. “This is my daughter, Charlotte, as you might have already deduced.” She shakes her head. “Thank goodness she ran into you and not into some creep. Thanks for watching her.”

“Oh, it was nothing,” he says, pointing towards the table. “She just wanted to help us make a castle.”

“Us?” Sharon asks, looking over his shoulder. “Oh, is that your… niece?”

“Niece?” His forehead creases in confusion, and it’s only when he realizes Sharon looking at Isabel does clarity wash over him. “Oh,” he says, shaking his head. “No, she’s-” His words are cut off by Isabel’s squeal, and he watches as the girl bolts from her chair. His heart races, his reflexes coiling as he prepares to run to grab her, but relief quickly sets in when he sees who she’s running to. Natasha stands at the center of the room, and she bends down to capture Isabel in her awaiting arms. His lips tug up in a smile before he turns back to Sharon. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I guess they really do just run off sometimes.”

“Not a problem,” Sharon says. “That’s her mom, I assume?”

“It is,” he says. “Actually-”

“I hear we have a castle to finish.” The greeting causes him to turn, and when he does, he finds Natasha standing behind him with Isabel on her hip. She smiles. “A little birdy told me you weren’t being very helpful.”

“Yeah, well…” His hand comes up to the back of his neck. “I got a little caught up.” His words cause her to lift an eyebrow at him, but before he can explain any further, a voice is already cutting in.

“Natasha?” Sharon says, holding out her hand. “Wow, it’s been a while!”

“Sharon,” Natasha says, her voice and her expression so smooth that for a second, Steve does not know whether to be impressed or shocked. She smiles as she reaches over to shake Sharon’s outstretched hand. “What a small world.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Sharon says.

“We were building a castle and Sharon’s daughter wanted to help,” Steve explains.

“I see,” Natasha says with a nod. “How have you been, Sharon?”

“Great,” Sharon says. “Life’s a little crazy with two kids, but I’m plugging along. Still living in Brooklyn.” She gestures between Steve and Natasha. “What about you two? It’s good to see you’ve remained friends all these years.”

He and Natasha share a look. “Actually, Sharon, Natasha and I-” He pauses when Isabel reaches for him. “Yes, Iz?"

Isabel stares up at him, her bottom lip jutted out. “Can I finish my castle now, Daddy?”   

“Daddy?” Sharon asks, and Steve looks to see her eyebrows all but shoot up into her hairline as a million questions fill her face. Her eyes dart from Isabel and then to him. She blinks a few times, and when her eyes still, he does not have to hear her say the words to know what’s put all the pieces together for her. Isabel may be a mirror image of Natasha, but the little girl’s eyes are an exact copy of his own, something he’s certain Sharon has noticed. “Oh.”

“Sharon,” he says, seemingly snapping the woman out of her trance as she turns to look at him. He places a hand on Natasha’s waist, drawing her closer. “Natasha is my wife.” He smiles. “And this is Isabel, our daughter.”

“Isabel Romanoff Rogers,” Isabel says before holding three fingers up. “I’m three.”

“I see,” Sharon says, giving Isabel a small smile before running her hands through her daughter’s hair. “Charlotte here is three as well.” She looks between Steve and Natasha, watching as Isabel turns to lay her head on Steve’s shoulder. “Well, isn’t she just the cutest,” she tells them, nodding. “You guys make a beautiful family.”

“Thank you,” Natasha says, smiling at Steve. “These two are my world.”

“I’m sure,” Sharon says softly, and despite her grin, Steve finds that he’s not quite certain how to read the emotion in her eyes. “Anyhow, Charlotte and I need to get going.”

“But mommy, I didn’t get to play with the sand!” Charlotte protests, looking up at her mother sullenly.

“Another time, all right?” Sharon says. “We have to go pick up Peggy.” Charlotte lets out a little whine at that, and Sharon looks quickly back at them. “Waterworks are about to start,” she says, cringing. 

Steve nods in understanding. “It was nice seeing you, Sharon.”

“Take care,” Sharon says, stealing a final glance at the three of them before taking Charlotte’s hand as they begin to make their way out.

For a moment, Steve stands there quietly, one arm holding Isabel and another still around Natasha. In the middle of the packed activities center of the biggest toy store in the world, in Times Square of all places, it seems ridiculous to feel so at peace, but with the two most important people in his life in his arms, he finds that it’s exactly how he feels. He sighs in content, turning his head to drop a kiss to Isabel’s temple.

“Momma? Daddy?” Isabel calls out, lifting her head off his shoulder.

“Yeah, fig?” Natasha asks, brushing a stray curl away from Isabel’s eyes.

“Can I finish making my castle now?” Isabel asks, a hint of exasperation in her voice.

He looks at Natasha who just shakes her head. “Yes, baby,” Natasha says. “Let’s go finish your castle.”

Later, when Isabel tires of the sand castle, they head down to the Ferris wheel. Much to his dismay, they end up in Cinderella’s carriage, the cart he deemed to look the least structurally sound as they waited in line. He shares the observation with Natasha, who in return just rolls her eyes as she gets in behind Isabel. The ride starts, and as their cart begins to ascend, his trepidation disappears when he sees the unadulterated elation on their daughter’s face. Isabel gasps as they reach the top, her eyes twinkling, and he can’t help but mirror her smile. He looks to Natasha, catching her staring at them with her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

“What?” he asks amusedly.

“Nothing,” she says, giving him a one-shouldered shrug. “It’s just… We did make one hell of a cute baby, didn’t we?”

He smirks, glancing at Isabel as she gestures animatedly at everything that catches her attention before looking back at his wife. “The cutest.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a request for this series? Leave me a prompt down in the comments or [here](https://natrogersfics.tumblr.com/ask) on my Tumblr ask.
> 
> Follow Steve and Natasha's journey to finding happiness in [A Little Favor](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14924780/chapters/34574921)
> 
> Tumblr: [natrogersfics](http://www.natrogersfics.tumblr.com)


	5. Be Good To Him, Okay?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha never expected to be hurt by her own writing. It always came naturally to her, something to do when she needed an escape. But then again, she never thought that she would one day be writing goodbyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extended version of the scene found in [Chapter 14: I Only Like Things Homemade](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14924780/chapters/43446818) of A Little Favor

Natasha hears the sound of her own heart beating as she stares at the white box before her. And while she does not have to open it to enumerate its contents, nevertheless, she finds herself lifting the lid. The folder of documents she had put together sit on top, and as she pulls it out, she sees both the letter she had written for Steve and the row of envelopes with messages she had meant for Isabel to one day read. She picks an envelope randomly, running her fingers over the words SENIOR PROM scrawled out on the front, feeling the contrast of the rough scratch of her pen over its smooth surface. When she had written this, it hadn’t even really been for Isabel. It was just for the child she may not have the pleasure of knowing, and even then, the thought made her chest ache. But now that there is a name and a face to that child, and now that she’s held her in her arms, she finds that ache has only tripled, making her clutch the edge of the drawer to keep her upright.

“Wanda will be here in half an hour.”

She pushes the papers in front of her to the side, turning her chair away from her desk as Steve walks into their home office and kneels down before her, taking her hands in his.

“I’m sorry I have to leave,” he says, “but we’re closing on the space for the gallery in California and these people are really-”

“Rogers,” she says, smiling as she nods towards the door. “Go. We’ll be fine.”

He sighs. “You’ll call me if anything happens?”

“Nothing’s going to happen,” she tells him. “But yes, I will call you if I feel so much as a pinch.”

“Okay,” he says, leaning forward to plant a kiss on her bump and then on her lips as he moves to get back on his feet. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“You better,” she warns before teasingly adding, “who else is going to cook me dinner?” She laughs as he rolls his eyes at her quip, slowly making his way to the door. “Hey,” she calls out, causing him to turn back. Her eyes sweep over the deep blue button-up of his that she loves so much, the one that makes his eyes look impossibly bluer. She smiles. “You look really handsome, you know that?”

“Yeah?” He gives her that boyish grin of his, the one that never fails at making her heart skip a beat. “You gonna show me how much you think so later?”

She scoffs. “You wish.”

“I really do,” he says, a smirk playing on his face before it’s replaced with a much softer expression. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she says, beaming as she watches him leave.

She waits until she hears their front door close before she reaches back for the papers, inspecting her work before folding it and slipping it into an envelope. She looks to the side, to the open box by her feet with a stack of identical envelopes resting inside. “Your Daddy is going to drive us both insane with his hovering,” she says, sighing as she places a hand on her belly. “He does it even when there isn’t anything to hover over.” She chuckles. “But only because he loves us. And when you’re older and it annoys you, I’ll remind you of that.” She looks to her desk, to the framed picture from her surprise baby shower of her sitting in Steve’s lap as he rests his hands on her bump, and the image makes her heart constrict in her chest even as it brings a smile to her lips. “He can be stubborn and relentless, but he’s also the kindest person you will ever meet, and he loves you fiercely. More than you will ever know and more than you will ever understand.” Almost instantly, the tears sting her eyes, streaking hotly down her face as she adds, “just like I do.” She swallows the knot that’s formed in her throat. “You two are the best things to ever happen to me. So, if I’m not- If I can’t… Be good to him, okay?” Her body shakes with a sob, her pain sharpening the cries that fall from her lips, but she does not try to stop it, allowing herself this one moment of catharsis.

It’s only when her tears taper moments later, her breath slowly coming back to normal, that she feels the nudge from inside her, bringing a smile to her face despite the tears. “Okay,” she whispers, running her hand over her belly. “Okay.”   

She rides out the shudder that runs through her at the memory before putting the envelope down to pick up the letter she had written for Steve. This is the last one she had written, and the irony does not escape her that on the night before she was to pledge her heart to him for the rest of her life, she was also trying to come up with the right words to tell him just how sorry she was that their time together had been cut short. They’ve never discussed the box or the letter, but as she’s slowly realizing, the fact that he had found and read it is tacit in how he’s been keeping her at arm’s length. Her hand tightens around the edge of the drawer once more. It was foolish to think that this was something they could sweep under the rug and even more so something they could walk away from unscathed.

“I don’t know why I even bother putting that shirt back in my drawer when you’re just going to steal it anyway.”

Steve’s voice fills the room, causing her to look up to see him standing behind her through the reflection in the mirror. She does not dare turn around, clutching the letter tighter between her fingers instead, and she watches as his teasing expression disintegrates.

“Nat?” he calls out softly, worry slipping into his tone. Her shoulders tense as she takes in a deep breath. “Natasha,” he says, his voice a little louder now as he nears. “Are you okay?”

“Do you…” she begins, slowly turning to find him with his eyebrows furrowed. She keeps her voice low, almost like she does not want him to hear her words. “Do you not want this life with me anymore?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a request for this series? Leave me a prompt down in the comments or [here](https://natrogersfics.tumblr.com/ask) on my Tumblr ask.
> 
> Follow Steve and Natasha's journey to finding happiness in [A Little Favor](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14924780/chapters/34574921)
> 
> Tumblr: [natrogersfics](http://www.natrogersfics.tumblr.com)


	6. Timing Is Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 4 times Izzie ruined Steve and Nat's sexy time + the 1 time she didn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by an [anon](https://natrogersfics.tumblr.com/post/183057964744/ive-been-a-silent-reader-for-a-while-now-and-i) on Tumblr: Can we get a 5+1 for BAF? Like 5 times Izzie ruined her parent's sexy time and one time she didn't? Can you please make this wish come true? Thank you!
> 
> (Had to scale it down to a 4+1 because I couldn't think of another scenario without repeating myself) + added a little twist at the end. ;-)
> 
> Thank you to [Faith2nyc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faith2nyc/pseuds/Faith2nyc) for the cover art! Please check out more of her work on [Tumblr](https://faith2nyc.tumblr.com/), [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/faith2nyc_romanogers/), and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Faith2nyc_IG).

**I**

If there’s one thing Natasha has learned in her thirty sum years on Earth, it’s that timing is everything. It could be the difference maker in something as simple as the number of copies the Daily’s current issue sells with regard to its relevancy to current events, or something more complex and life-changing, like waiting for the right person to spend the rest of your life with. Regardless of the context, life experience (and her line of work, really) has taught her that even a good thing is unlikely to end favorably if it happens at the wrong time.

She knows this, she does.

But she’s also a firm believer in making things happen. And, well, as the old adage goes: you never know you can’t do something until you try. 

At least, that’s what she tells herself as she walks determinedly out of the kitchen with a bowl in hand, making her way towards the mat in the living room where Isabel is sprawled out watching her favorite movie.

“A sundae?” Isabel asks as she kneels down next to her, the little girl’s eyes widening in delight when she sees the contents of the bowl. “I thought I wasn’t allowed to have dessert before dinner?”

“You’re not,” she says, handing Isabel the spoon. “But we’re making an exception today.” Isabel stares at her for a beat, and if her daughter is suspicious of her sudden change of heart, it dissipates the second she brings a spoonful of ice cream to her mouth. She smiles. “Now, can you be a good girl and stay here while momma finishes doing the laundry?”  

“Mhmm,” Isabel says, her eyes already glued back to the movie.    

“Good,” she says, taking note of the screen and then of the clock on the mantle. _Perfect_.

With a final glance at her daughter, she pads over to the laundry room, walking in just in time to catch Steve pull his shirt over his head and toss it into the washer. The sight of his back muscles rippling deliciously with the action coupled with his pants resting low on his hips causes her to bite her lip, and quietly, she tip-toes behind him just as he shuts the door and starts the wash. She wraps her arms around him, earning an amused laugh as she presses kisses to the bare skin between his shoulder blades.  

“Nat,” he breathes in warning as her hands dance along the waistband of his sweatpants. “Izzie-”

“Is watching Aladdin and eating a sundae,” she finishes as he turns to face her, his eyebrow cocking up, but she ignores it as she steps closer. “The genie was just about to grant him three wishes, which means we have about twenty minutes at most before our daughter needs you to sing all of his parts in A Whole New World.” She cocks her head to the side. “Now, do you want to argue about our daughter’s spoiled appetite, or do you want to take me up against-”

He cuts her off as he surges forward, crushing his lips to hers. And before she can even register what’s happening, he lifts her into his arms, nimbly turning on his feet to set her down onto the top of the washer. A moan escapes her as his lips move south, trailing hotly down the column of her throat, and she can’t help but giggle as his fingers brush the skin just by the hem of her top.

“Eager much?” she teases as he unceremoniously throws her camisole over his shoulder, her breath catching slightly as she feels the cool air against her chest.

He scoffs as he pulls her closer to the edge. “You’re the one that- _Fuck_.”

“I did what now?” she whispers, smirking as her hand slips past the waistband of his sweatpants to encircle his already flushed and hardening length. “Didn’t realize you had such a laundry kink, Rogers.”

His lips part to speak, but his words dissolve into a groan when she begins to pump her hand up and down. She chuckles, earning a withering look from him. “Fuck you.”

“Oh, I hope so,” she says breathlessly, pressing her lips to his as her eyes all but roll back when he runs the pads of his thumbs over her nipples. “Because-”

“Momma!”

Isabel’s voice causes them to pull away, making Steve hiss as her hand stills and her eyes dart to the open doorway of their laundry room. “You said the genie was just about to grant him three wishes,” he whisper yells.

“He was!”

“Momma!” Isabel calls out again, and this time, both their eyes grow wide when they hear the pitter patter of her footsteps against the hardwood. “I need help!”

“What’s wrong, baby?” she calls out, breathing a sigh of relief when Isabel’s footfalls halt.

“The movie stopped.”

Before her, Steve’s shoulders sag. “Be right there!” she says, shooting Steve an apologetic look as he helps her down.

She picks her top up from the ground and puts it back on, and just as she walks out, she hears him mutter, “stupid streaming service.” 

* * *

  **II**

“No, no,” she whimpers, feeling Steve’s fingers still inside of her. “Don’t stop.”

“Close?” he asks teasingly, pulling his hand away. In the steam of the shower, a few strands of hair have fallen to his forehead, and despite all her nerves feeling like a live wire, she finds herself caught between wanting to wipe that smug look off his face and itching to reach over and push his hair back. 

“Rogers,” she says, chest heaving. “I swear to God-”

“Thought you didn’t want me to interrupt your shower?” he says, making her back arch when the brushes over her folds briefly, purposely missing the spot he knows she’s aching the most. _Ass_. “Maybe I should go…”

She nearly laughs at his words, but whether it’s out of amusement or the fact that he isn’t wrong, she’s uncertain. She was opposed to him joining her in the shower because she knows him – knows  _them_ – and knows that the possibility of things not escalating is slim to none. Add to that the fact that their daughter is now more aware of their presence, or, the lack thereof, she knew letting him in here was a recipe for trouble.

Steve had offered a solution to her qualms. He had taken care of Isabel for the time being, he had promised, and he could be quick. And despite her gut telling her that those were half truths at most, the second she felt his hands against her bare skin, she had lost her will to argue. In theory, they do have time. Isabel does not have to be dropped off at pre-K for another hour and a half, and they don’t have to be at work for another thirty minutes after. But between dealing with their toddler’s ever-changing mood, and the subway schedule being unpredictable, she knows it’s always better to err on the side of caution.

Just not today.

“Do that,” she says, her fingers curling tightly around his bicep like she’s afraid he’ll actually follow through. “And you’ll be sleeping on the couch, you understand?”

“I do,” he says, smirking as he leans down to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “And I would never.”

The mischievous grin on his face causes her to swallow, the heat between her legs becoming increasingly unbearable as he keeps his gaze trained on her even as he begins to drop to his knees. He hooks her leg over his shoulder, and her stomach coils in anticipation as he leans forward to lick a broad stripe up her core. 

“ _Ah_ ,” she breathes, throwing her head back. He zeroes in on her bundle of nerves, making her hand fall to his shoulder, her nails digging into his skin as pleasure pulses through her veins and she tries to keep herself upright. “Right there. _Yes_.”

He increases the pressure, and she whines in absolute euphoria as his mouth and fingers work over her in tandem. She feels her knees begin to buckle, the pressure at the base of her spine tightening as her vision goes white and-

“Daddy!” comes Isabel’s muffled voice from behind the bathroom door.

“She’s trying to kill me,” she laments, uncertain if it’s the spray from the shower or actual tears that prick her eyes when Steve pulls away from her.  

Steve sighs. “Yes, Iz?”

“I got ink on my legs,” Isabel says sadly.

“You gave her markers?” she asks incredulously, her pleasure dying like a flame in the wind at the revelation. “She has to be in school in less than two hours!”

“They’re washable,” he points out. “And is that really your biggest concern right now?” She glares icily down at him, to which he sighs. “I know, I know.”

She watches as he gets up to his feet before slipping out of the shower, and the second she hears the bathroom door click shut, she stands under the spray, bracing herself as she kills the knob for the hot water.

* * *

  **III**

She can’t help the way her lips curve up in a smile as she lies on her front, her cheek pressed against the pillow as Steve peppers kisses up her spine. In the chaos of their day to day lives, it’s difficult not to feel a little victorious, like they’ve somehow stolen a coveted moment to themselves. The fact that they both have the afternoon off at the same time is nothing short of a miracle, and they hadn’t even hesitated to say yes when Bucky had volunteered to take Isabel off their hands for a few hours.  

“You know, that smile is how we ended up here in the first place.”

She scoffs, though it’s half-hearted and they both know it. They had plans to get brunch at their favorite spot in SoHo, and then to visit a gallery in Queens for old times’ sake, but that agenda had quickly gone out the window the second Bucky had left with their daughter in tow.  

“Funny,” she says, looking over her shoulder. “I didn’t hear a peep from you when you were trying to fuck me into our kitchen floor.” 

He scoffs. “You pulled me down there,” he reminds her, chuckling when she sucks in a breath as he nips at the skin just where her neck and shoulder meet before soothing the spot over with his tongue.

“Did I?” she says, doing her best to shift onto her side with him practically on top of her. “Can’t seem to remember.” He brackets her body with his own, and she feels his length already nudging the small of her back, and despite her mind feeling sated and satisfied, her body betrays her, her blood thrumming in her veins again as his hand glides around her hip and his fingers slide over her stomach and past her navel. She reaches behind her, digging her nails into his skin hard enough to make him pause. “We don’t have time for another round,” she points out, nodding towards the clock on her bedside. “They’ll be back soon.”

“I don’t need long,” he whispers, kissing the shell of her ear, and even as her eyes fall shut, she can picture the smirk on his face. “And quite frankly, I don’t think you do, either.”

She lets out a breathy moan as his hand slips between her thighs, and he groans into her neck when he feels just how much she still craves him. “Fuck,” she mutters as he begins to circle her bundle of nerves, her hand balling the material of the pillowcase. “Just like that.”

“Yeah?” he says huskily, shifting them both onto their sides with her back to his chest.

“What are you guys doing?”

“Izzie!” she exclaims breathlessly, scrambling to pull the comforter higher over her body. “Baby, what are you doing back-”

She’s interrupted by the sound of a thud, and her eyes grow wide as saucers when Isabel runs towards her side of the bed. “Daddy!” Isabel exclaims concernedly, dropping to her knees to look under their bed. “Daddy, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, babe,” comes Steve’s muffled response, and from where she’s sitting on the bed, she can’t help but bring a hand to her face. “Did you have fun at the zoo?”

“Yes,” she hears Isabel respond excitedly. “We saw the penguins and then uncle Bucky and I had pizza. With extra cheese.”

“That’s great,” Steve says. “Is, um… Is your uncle Bucky still here?”

“He came up the elevator with me, but then he had to leave,” Isabel explains simply. “He bought me new penguin slippers. They’re in the living room, wanna see?”

“We’d love to see them,” she interrupts quickly, causing Isabel to look up at her. She smiles. “Why don’t you go put them on? We’ll be out in a minute.”

“Okay,” Isabel says, happily bounding out of their room.

She waits until their daughter is out of earshot before moving across the bed, looking down to see Steve face down on the floor. She bursts out laughing.

“I’m going to kill Bucky,” he mumbles.

* * *

  **IV  
**

“Izzie?”

“Out like a light.”

"Dishwasher?”

“Loaded.”

“Office computer?”

“Shut down, as are our work phones.”

“But what about-”

“Nat,” Steve says, chuckling as he puts a hand on her arm. “It’s just us, baby.” He pulls her to sit astride him on the couch, resting his hands on the dip of her waist as he shoots her a lopsided smile. “Now, what do you want to do?”

The answer comes to her almost instantly, but she gives herself a second to contemplate it. She knows that he’s not likely to disagree, but also that they’d be wasting precious time by doing so. Knows that, despite the quiet and peacefulness that’s fallen over their apartment, that any minute now, this moment they have to themselves can be interrupted. That, if they didn’t act quickly to make the most of it, it’s bound to be taken from them. That’s just what their lives are like now as parents, homeowners, and professionals. But even so, the words fall from her lips. “Would it be completely out of line to ask you to just kiss me right now?”

“Never,” he says, shaking his head as he brings a hand up to cup her face. “Never, Nat.”

A smile grazes her lips at that, and she leans forward to press her lips to his, her palms falling flat against his chest. Their kiss is gentle, languid – like they don’t already know each other like they know the backs of their hands, and she sighs contentedly into it. He tastes uniquely of Steve, and of the bottle of wine they shared over dinner, and she finds herself completely and utterly intoxicated by it. Three years into their life together, and she’s still as crazy for this man as she was the day she married him.

 _Screw it_ , she thinks, deepening their kiss as she’s suddenly overcome with how much she feels for him. She drops her hands to the hem of his shirt, trying to push it up, and he smirks as he catches her hands in his own. “What happened to just kissing?”

“Keep kissing me,” she says, bringing her lips back down to his. “But now, do it while you’re doing me.”

He tips his head back in laughter. “Very seductive, Mrs. Rogers.”  

“I try,” she says with a shrug before nodding towards his shirt. “Off.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, reaching behind to pull his shirt up and over him. He pulls her back to him, kissing her with more ferocity as she wraps her hands around his neck, grinding down onto him. He groans. “Always so impatient.”

She smiles into their kiss. “You-”

They hear it as soon as it begins, a guttural cry that has them both scrambling to their feet and running down the hall without so much as a second thought. Her hand reaches for the knob on Isabel’s door, turning it quickly as the cries grow louder and she enters the room illuminated only by the night light. Inside, Isabel sits up in bed, her face red as tears stream down her face.

“It’s okay, fig,” she says, sitting on Isabel’s bed as she gathers the little girl in her arms and Steve kneels down next to them. “Momma’s here, baby. Momma’s here.” She whispers the words repeatedly like a prayer, pressing kisses to the top of Isabel’s head as she holds her tightly against her chest and Steve rubs soothing circles along her back. It’s only when Isabel’s cries taper and her whimpers die down that she dares to look down. “Did you have a bad dream?” 

Isabel nods. “It was Millicent.”

“From the Paddington movie?” she tries to clarify, sharing a worried glance with Steve. 

“She was trying to take the Paddington bear aunt Pepper gave me,” Isabel says.

“Oh, baby,” she hears Steve coo, reaching for Isabel’s stuffed bear by her pillow before handing it to her. “It was just a dream. Paddington’s right here, and no one’s going to take him from you.”

She watches as Isabel reaches for him, and carefully, she maneuvers their daughter into his arms. “Can me and Paddington sleep in your bed tonight?” Isabel asks her, resting her face against her Steve’s shoulder.

“Sure can, fig,” she says.

Isabel falls back asleep the second they get situated in their bed. And it’s only when she sees their daughter snoozing peacefully between them, her face devoid of any trouble and Paddington nestled in her arms, does relief wash over her. She sneaks a glance at Steve, watching as he dusts the lightest of kisses to Isabel’s forehead, before reaching over to cover his hand with hers. “Sorry tonight didn’t go as planned.”

He shakes his head, bringing her hand up to his face to kiss her knuckles before looking down between them. “Everything’s exactly as it should be.”

* * *

  **\+ I**

She yelps in surprise when she’s suddenly yanked to the side, but it’s quickly muffled by Steve’s lips on hers as he walks her backwards down the hall and through an open doorway. “What are you doing?” she asks amusedly as they break away long enough for him to shut and lock the door behind her.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he says, pulling her back to him by her waist as he leans down to kiss her.

“Steve,” she says, giggling between kisses. She cups his face between her hands to get him to look at her before she eyes their surroundings. “Here?”

He raises an eyebrow at her. “Oh, so now you’re opposed to sex in public?”

In all honesty, she really isn’t. And the guest bathroom of Tony and Pepper’s Hamptons beach house is hardly the worst or the least appropriate place they’ve done it in, but that’s hardly the point. Tony had invited friends, family, and coworkers alike to celebrate Memorial Day away from the city, and while she doubts their momentary absence will be noticed, she is highly aware of the number of little children wandering around.

“I am when our daughter and her friends are jumping from room to room,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Relax,” he says, running his hands soothingly down her arms. “Peter has them.”

She tilts her head to the side, skeptical. “You convinced Peter to watch all four kids?”

He shrugs. “Told him he could have Monday off.”

“You know you don’t actually work at the Daily anymore, right?”

“No,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows as he smiles. “But I know the boss who might give him the day off if I convince her well enough.” She scoffs as he steps forward, gently prying her arms apart and running his thumb over her knuckles. “Come on, Nat.” He looks at her from underneath the fan of his lashes. “Please?”

For a moment, she considers standing her ground. But the way he’s staring at her, with his ocean blue irises dark and devious, makes her swallow thickly, and suddenly, the fortress that is her will feels like a house of cards.

“You never fight fair,” she says, more to herself than anyone else. But before he can give her a rebuttal, she seals her lips over his as she pulls him towards the marble counter. She reaches behind her, curling her fingers around the cool surface to give her leverage to hoist herself up, but before she can, his hands are on her hips, tethering her to the ground. She pulls away, breathless. “What?”

She gasps as he spins her around, pinning her to the counter with his body. “Remember what you said this morning?” he asks, eliciting another moan from her as he nips on that spot on her neck. “You said” – he runs a hand up the skin of her back left exposed by the royal blue halter dress she had purchased for the occasion, sending chills down her spine –  “you only bought this dress so you could watch me take it off you.” He brings his other hand up to her face, lifting her chin so she can meet his smoldering gaze in the mirror in front of them. “So watch.”

Her skin tingles with anticipation as she does as she’s told, watching intently as he unties the silk knot at the back of her neck. The top of her dress falls forward, baring her chest to the crisp air of the room before it slips down the rest of her body and pools around her ankles. In the reflection, she catches Steve’s smirk before the telltale sound of lace ripping fills the air. She bites her lip, smiling. _Money well spent_.

Later, she peeks her head out the door, giving the hallway a once over before signaling for Steve to follow her. They nearly make it to the end before a panicked voice causes them to pause, and they lean their backs against the wall as they listen.

“Izzie!” Peter calls out worriedly. “Izzie, are you in here?”

She turns to Steve, glaring at him as she tries to keep her voice down. “I told you he couldn’t handle all four kids!”

“He said-”

“Oh, my God, Izzie!”

The outcry coupled with their daughter’s name being mentioned has them both rushing out of the hall and towards the sound of the commotion, and she does not even feel badly in the slightest as she all but shoves Peter out of the way to get to one of the guest rooms.  

“Izzie!” she calls out, her eyes frantically searching the room. “Izzie, are you-” Before her, Isabel stands in the threshold of the room, unhurt but looking terribly guilty – though not nearly as much as the two people on the bed staring at them both in absolute horror. “Oh, God.”

“What the hell is going on in here?” Steve asks, clearly in disbelief. “Wanda? _Bucky_?” 

She turns around to see Steve standing in the doorway, seemingly frozen in place with his eyes wide as he takes in the scene before him. 

“Uh oh." 

She winces at Isabel's interjection, and as Steve’s jaw sets, she swallows. _Uh oh, indeed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... how do we think Steve's going to react?  
> 
> 
>   
>  **OR**  
> 
> 
> Have a request for this series? Leave me a prompt down in the comments or [here](https://natrogersfics.tumblr.com/ask) on my Tumblr ask.
> 
> Follow Steve and Natasha's journey to finding happiness in [A Little Favor](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14924780/chapters/34574921)
> 
> Tumblr: [natrogersfics](http://www.natrogersfics.tumblr.com)


End file.
